


national city high

by novoaa1



Category: DCU, Supergirl (TV 2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Basketball!, F/F, Jock Kara Danvers, Kara Danvers/Lena Luthor-centric, Lesbian Lena Luthor, Lex Luthor Being an Asshole, POV Lena Luthor, Teacher Barry Allen, audrey really hasn't thought this out like. at all, lenas smart cause duh, prep lena luthor, uhhhh, we're gonna add tags as we go along ok
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-15
Updated: 2019-12-20
Packaged: 2020-10-18 19:00:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20644085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/novoaa1/pseuds/novoaa1
Summary: Understandably, her hopes aren’t all that high for National City High...Well, at least, it starts that way.Because, then she meets the actual embodiment of sunshine (also commonly known as Kara Danvers), and the aforementioned ray of hyperactive sunshine looks at Lena for approximately two seconds and impulsively decides that they’re gonna be friends.Bestfriends… or something to that effect.She’s the star point-guard of the basketball team, captain of the varsity lacrosse squad, and an all-around beloved member of the community at National City High; what’s more, she’s blonde and blue-eyed andgorgeousand if Lena hadn’t already known she was a massive lesbian before Kara Danvers sat down next to her in Advanced Chemistry II with a sunny smile and those ridiculously blue eyes... Well.Or: Just another High School AU.





	1. kara danvers

**Author's Note:**

> alright alright so here's my thinking ok: i start posting this kara x lena high school au thing that i've been working on since summertime, and maybe writing more supercorp will help me with the whole 'writers block' sitch on my otHER supercorp story, and also, writing a high school au will help me with the whole oTHer 'writers block' sitch on my marvel high school thingy... and then my writers block is solved!!
> 
> (yea, i think it sounds like a load of idealistic bullshit, too)
> 
> whatever
> 
> we're tryiNG, ok
> 
> inspiration is hard, and i don't actually think i have many internet friends who are that into supergirl🤔
> 
> but anyways
> 
> here's a thing i've been keepin in my notes for a while:

As a junior in high school, Lena knows very well that the relative amount of life experience she possesses is nothing short of pitiful (not to mention, she’s a good 1-2 years younger than most of her classmates)—but over the years, she'd like to think she’s learned a few things: 

First, things are in a constant state of flux—scientifically, physically, emotionally, psychologically. 

(Take, for example, the fact that she’s moved cities and is starting at yet another new high school for the third time in the space of less than two years.) 

Nothing was permanent, and sure, it sucks sometimes—but Lena doesn’t quite think that that transience always has to carry such a negative connotation. 

She doesn’t think she’s being unreasonably optimistic (because she really cannot emphasize enough how much that has never been a problem of hers) by saying that the inherent brevity of things can be innately satisfying in a way; beautiful in its fleeting nature. 

Whatever. She’s gone off on a bit of a tangent here. 

The second thing she’s learned is, she really doesn’t like being a Luthor in high school.

Granted, the Luthors have maintained their image as something of a revered and admired familial unit in the eyes of the public, so there’s no big scandal to ruin Lena’s reputation in the halls of National City High—but still, she doesn’t exactly love being the youngest daughter of an undoubtedly wealthy family with a well-known habit of making swift, cold business transactions that reap obscene amounts of money no matter the consequences towards minority groups and those who don’t bear the Luthor name. 

As a result, it’s not surprising that Lena doesn’t have many friends—and the few “acquaintances” she’s managed to acquire over the years are all horrifically similar to Lillian: positively dripping in wealth, pretentious beyond belief, unsympathetic and cruel towards those they don’t understand.

(For example, they’re all very steadfast in their unwavering belief that aliens are “a cancer that must needs be eradicated from the face of our Earth”—honestly, the only way Lena can ever think to respond to such a sentiment is: _Yikes_.)

There’s more to harp on, obviously (there always is), but she’ll digress.

Thirdly (and arguably most importantly), high school isn’t a bloody _Glee_ episode. 

There aren’t terribly strict hierarchies (more unspoken than anything else), people don’t get slushees thrown down their shirts for prancing around on stage wearing tights and singing Broadway’s Greatest Hits (it’s more of a ‘live and let live’ situation, if anything—theatre kids have their niche, and everyone else has theirs), because sometimes the theatre kid likes to play basketball too, and it’s not social suicide for them to choose that; it just means they have more than one group of buddies, and maybe those buddies don’t mix all that well, but whatever, right? That’s life—they just have to figure it out somehow.

And maybe Lena’s not exactly well-liked (it’s only her second day at National City High School, but her hopes really aren’t all that high), because heaven knows she hadn’t been over at Metropolis High—there, she’d been dubbed a “fanatically obsessed alien-hater” (untrue), a “stuck-up know-it-all” (she’s smart and wealthy, she knows, but she’d like to believe that that assertion is untrue as well), and a “frigid lesbian” (she doesn’t know about the ‘frigid’ piece, but she’ll admit they got the ‘lesbian’ bit correct). 

Though, it’s worth mentioning that there had been absolutely no evidence in the past for her classmates to make the assumption that she was gay—other than her not ever having dated any of the boys in the school or its neighboring institutions, of course. 

But somehow, that was just as good as Lena standing at Monday morning announcements and calmly informing everyone she was a rug-munching dyke, because soon enough, it had just become a known fact around the halls that Lena neither confirmed nor denied. 

(So therefore, it must have been true... right? 

The thought processes of adolescent teenaged girls give Lena frequent headaches.)

Oh well, she supposes—honestly, at the end of the day, she thinks they just saved her the trouble of any slimy adolescent boys trying to slither their way into her pants. 

(… Understandably, her hopes aren’t all that high for National City High.)

So, that’s the reality of life for Lena at the current moment: not terribly disappointing (though fairly underwhelming), a little bit lonely, and somewhat headache-inducing on occasion (she’s being generous there, because if she’s being honest with herself, it’s more like every bloody day)—but overall, nothing she can’t handle, and certainly not anything she didn’t expect. 

Well, at least, it starts that way. 

Because then, she meets the actual embodiment of sunshine also commonly known as Kara Danvers, and the aforementioned ray of hyperactive sunshine looks at Lena for approximately two seconds and impulsively decides that they’re gonna be friends. _Best_ friends… or something to that effect.

She’s the star point-guard of the basketball team, captain of the varsity lacrosse squad, and an all-around beloved member of the community at National City High; what’s more, she’s blonde and blue-eyed and _gorgeous_ and if Lena hadn’t already known she was a massive lesbian before Kara Danvers sat down next to her in Advanced Chemistry II with a sunny smile and those ridiculously blue eyes... Well.

Let’s just say Kara Danvers would be more than enough to trigger that gay awakening for Lena, and what’s more, she probably wouldn’t need to break a single sweat in doing so.

(Though, to be fair, Lena most certainly wouldn’t mind if Kara got a little sweaty.. or maybe a lot, because she can vividly imagine the beaded droplets of moisture on the bunching tendons of Kara’s arms, tracing down the very well-defined muscles of her back, dipping into the dimples at her spine—

Ahem. 

Let’s just say that Kara is a very attractive girl, and leave it at that.)

Lena doesn’t know why Kara Danvers has decided they’re going to be friends (much less _best_ friends), because it’s only the second week of school, Lena had only just met Kara yesterday, and she’d woken to a ‘Good morning!’ text today from the energetic girl with a rather impressive number of emojis… 

So, needless to say, she’s rather confused by the whole thing, and when she’s dropped off at 7:30 sharp (the drivers hired by the Luthors were always impeccably punctual), it only worsens, because then she sees a grinning Kara waiting on the steps and brightening visibly when she approaches, and she’s sure she’s dreaming. 

To make matters worse, she looks _amazing_ in a pair of slim-fit khaki joggers and the blue-and-red basketball jersey for the National City High Lions along with a pair of simple black Converse sneakers—when she crosses both toned arms over her chest, the muscles in her tanned forearms jump with every slight movement, and Lena fears she’s about to faint. 

What’s more, she feels terribly insufficient wearing a simple white flower-dotted sundress that cinches at the waist (her go-to when she’s feeling far too lazy to bother with a ‘real’ outfit) and white Vans on either foot. 

But maybe Kara isn’t waiting for her, right? Maybe Kara’s just waiting for her sister Alex (a very scary senior with short red hair and a palpable _‘Don’t fuck with me’_ attitude—Lena had only seen her once yesterday, but she was already _terrified_ of the older girl), or mayb—

“Hey, Lena!” Kara calls out energetically, and Lena flushes deeply as several students loitering outside the building turn to stare at her. 

Still quite convinced she’s dreaming, she approaches Kara shyly, returning the girl’s enthusiastic grin with a bashful smile of her own. 

“Hi, Lena!” Kara greets her happily (_again_), hopping down from the steps to stand before the entrance across from Lena. “I’m Kara, in case you forgot.”

_How could I possibly forget?_ Lena thinks to herself, lips quirking upwards at the adorably earnest look on Kara’s face. 

“I remember,” she mumbles, cheeks still tinged pink. “You, um—You like—_look_ nice,” she manages in a graceless stutter. _Useless lesbian!_ her brain screams. 

At that, a slight blush spreads across Kara’s tanned features, which immediately serves to put Lena more at ease. 

“T-Thanks, Lena,” she stammers—then after a second her ocean-blue eyes lit up dramatically, like she’s just remembered something. “Walk you to class? We have Chemistry first.”

Lena gapes for a long moment, before promptly snapping her mouth shut at Kara’s quizzical expression. 

“A-Are you sure?” she asks, like an absolute _idiot_. 

Kara’s brows furrow, the cutest little crinkle forming between them even as Lena begs herself to focus.

“I—Uh, well—If-If you don’t want to walk with me, that’s okay, too, I just thought—" Kara begins to ramble, stumbling over her words in _adorable_ fashion, "Well, I just thought that—that you know, maybe you’d wanna walk together but I can totally just like—"

“Kara,” Lena interrupts eventually, after it becomes rather apparent the blonde girl doesn’t appear to be stopping anytime soon. 

“Yeah?” Kara questions sheepishly, a hand coming up to scratch the short windswept hair at the back of her head, and _dammit_, the muscles in her arm flex with every movement, making it nearly impossible for Lena to focus. 

“I-I-I’d like that,” she chokes out, darting her eyes purposefully back to meet sea-blue eyes (and not linger on the girl’s impressively toned physicality). 

Instantly, Kara grins—Lena's rather surprised she doesn’t start bouncing up and down on the balls of her feet right then, she looks so damn excited. 

(It's probably the cutest thing Lena's ever seen in her life.)

“Uh—Great! That’s—Great!” Kara shifts nervously on her feet. “Ca-Can I take your bag?”

Lena blinks. “What?”

“While we walk, you know,” Kara replies, mumbling a little as the pinkish flush upon her pale cheeks deepens. “I just—I could carry it for you, if you want.”

Lena blinks again, because, _Is this girl for real?_

“Are you sure? I have some heavy books in here,” she says shyly instead, jerking a head back towards her grey book bag on her shoulders filled to the brim with various hardcover textbooks. 

But Kara merely nods excitedly in response, looking rather like a puppy as she does. “Of course! I need the exercise, anyways.”

“No, you don’t,” Lena blurts before she can stop herself, and quickly her cheeks grow heated as Kara looks at her with a bemused expression, clearly a bit taken aback. “I just—Well, I mean, you’re very in shape, not that—Not in, like, a creepy way it’s just you do sports and y—"

“Lena,” Kara interrupts with a charming grin, reaching to place a warm hand on Lena's arm, and _Oh my God, I’m going to die right here right now_, she thinks as warm tingles erupt through out her entire body. “I got your meaning.”

Lena’s cheeks burn even hotter (something she hadn’t known was at all possible). “I—Good!” she squeaks out, fiddling with a pin-straight lock of her own jet-black hair—a nervous tic of hers. “Sorry.”

Kara tilts her head, a hand coming up to adjust the wire-rimmed glasses perched upon the bridge of her nose—_She’s adorable_, Lena thinks before she can stop herself. 

“You don’t have to apologize,” Kara chuckles, and Lena prays for the ground to swallow her whole. “Now,” she moves to effect an almost-bow, a single toned arm outstretched towards Lena as if requesting a ballroom dance, “your bag, milady?”

Lena’s, for her part, is caught between rolling her eyes and giggling at the sheer ridiculousness of what’s happening right now; in the end, she settles for something in between: sucking her lips into her mouth in a clear attempt not to laugh, both brows raised, amusement playing all across her features. 

It takes her a long moment to realize Kara is still waiting for a response, tanned arm outstretched, playful blue eyes fixed upon Lena’s, her dramatic stance having caught the attention of various students milling past—Lena feels another heated wave of embarrassment rising within her, and she’s sure her face has never been as red as it is right now. 

“Uh—Sure,” she mumbles out bashfully, already sliding the straps off her shoulders (letting out a quiet sigh of relief as her sore back muscles thank her vehemently for affording them a break) to offer the heavy grey pack to an eagerly expectant Kara. “I mean—Yes, thank you.”

Kara beams, lean arm muscles rippling obscenely as she takes the chock-full bag like it weighs nothing, slinging it onto her shoulder (Kara's own burgundy backpack hanging off the other) with a similar air of nonchalance that makes Lena’s knees suddenly feel rather weak. 

“Ready?” she asks then, standing a mere span of inches from Lena—Kara smells like mints and shaving cream and evergreen forests, Lena realizes, and it’s enough to make her dizzy with want and the faintest hint of arousal and _Kara_, period.

Lena swallows thickly, then makes a concerted effort to drag her gaze from Kara’s statuesque profile beside her and focus instead on the dreaded National City High building before them. “As I’ll ever be.”

— — 

They’re just minutes into the admittedly rather dull Chemistry lesson on Thermodynamic Heat Transfer, when an entirely unprecedented phenomenon begins to occur (especially when considering that Lena didn’t have any real ‘friends’): her phone starts buzzing incessantly with a handful of new unopened text messages, one right after the other.

“Someone’s popular,” Kara jokes with a smile, and Lena fights the immediate urge to tell her that, no, she really, _really_ isn’t. 

But as it was, she’s quite abruptly presented with a new problem—the texts on her phone (five of them now and one missed call), all from Lex, each one more cold and demanding than the next:

**lex** **8:00am**

Answer me. Now.

**lex** **7:59am**

It’s important.

**lex** **7:59am**

Lena.

**lex** **7:57am**

?

**lex** **7:55am**

Lena, we need to talk. 

**lex** **7:54am**

(1) Missed Call

_Shit_, she thinks, already raising her hand to get the Chem teacher’s attention as nausea roils in her gut, pointedly ignoring the worried look Kara is sending her way.

“Mr. Allen?” she speaks up, quiet but firm—their Chemistry teacher, a lanky brunette man with a big toothy grin and an adorably awkward air about him, gives her a nod and a smile from the front of the classroom. 

“Yes, Lena?” 

“May I use the restroom?”

Mr. Allen flushes slightly, and Lena hears a few muted giggles from various students in the classroom. (_The level of maturity amongst my peers is staggering_, Lena thinks sardonically to herself.) “I—Yes! Yes, of course, go right ahead.”

“Thank you,” Lena says graciously, and a moment later she’s walking swiftly out of the classroom, her hand trembling around the phone in her grip. 

She takes a deep breath, steeling herself as she slides the ‘Missed Call’ notification from Lex to the right (the device automatically ringing him back), the sound shrill and unsettling against Lena’s ear. 

A moment later, there’s an arrogant-sounding “Yes?” coming over the line, and Lena’s breath catches in her throat. 

It takes her a bit, but she manages to gather herself—and now that she has, all she can really feel is anger. Anger, and confusion, and maybe the slightest hint of sadness underlying it all. 

“You’re supposed to be in prison.” Her voice sounds strange to her ears; off-key, somehow.

He chuckles, and it sends shivers down Lena’s spine. “What can I say? I missed my favorite sister.”

“Your only sister.”

“So?”

Lena sighs, rubbing her forehead tiredly as she leans herself against the brick wall behind her. “What do you want, Lex?"

“Is it really so inconceivable that I would call to hear your voice, or maybe just to talk like we used to?”

Lena clenches her jaw, feeling the rapid onset of tears descending even whilst she unashamedly begs herself to be stronger than that, stronger than _him_. “But you didn’t, did you?” Her voice trembles on the final syllable, and she hates herself for it.

“Don’t be dramatic, dear sister. It’s only a tiny favor. Inconsequential, really.”

Lena rolls her eyes even as she knows her brother can’t see it. “If it was so inconsequential, you wouldn’t bother asking me.”

Lex just laughs, the sound of it grating and cold. “See? I always told Mother you were intellectually superior.”

“What’s the favor, Lex?” she asks, her tone steely; she’s tired of his games, and she’s growing less and less bothered by the degree to which her brother can discern her palpable irritation.

“Quantum leaping.”

“What about it?”

“You’ve cracked it, yes?”

Lena’s brow furrows. “Just preliminary projections and architectural blueprints.”

“Don’t lie to me, Lena.”

“I’m not.”

“You’re really going to stand there and tell me that all you have is a _theory?_ ”

"It’s not as if I can get the unearthly metallic alloys and complex ionic compounds I need for such a massive structure as a 15-year-old high schooler… and if you really believe what you’ve said about my ‘intellectual superiority,’ then you should know damn well it’s more than a half-baked hypothesis.”

“Fine,” Lex huffs, sounding annoyed—Lena takes a small amount of satisfaction at the sound of it. "I want all of it.”

“All of what?”

“The blueprints, the research—everything.”

“Sure,” she quips, “right after I call the Metropolis PD and let them know you’ve escaped.”

“Feisty, aren’t you?” he teases languidly, and she fights to control her breathing. “No matter—we both know you won’t do that.”

“What makes you so sure?”

“Don’t play dumb, Lena, dear. It’s unbecoming,” he coos, and Lena feels white-hot rage burning in her chest. “Now, about your research.. "

“You’re not getting it.”

“Lena, we can do this one of two ways—"

“Let me guess: one of them’s the easy way, and the other’s the hard way; am I right?”

“Do not mock me, and do _not_ interrupt.”

Lena’s cheeks burn. “I need to get back to class.”

“I’ll expect the entirety of your accumulated research by tomorrow,” he remarks coolly, and Lena wants to scream. 

“Don’t count on it.”

“Goodbye, dear sister.”

Lena doesn’t respond before she’s hanging up (a show of resistance she know she’ll be paying for later), her entire body trembling with sheer emotion, vision turning blurry with tears. 

She’s not sure how long she stands there in the blessedly empty halls, tidal waves of rage coursing through her body, angry tears tracing her cheeks as she gasps for air, for a single hint of something to make her feel like she’s not drowning anymore. 

(She doesn’t get it.)

A minute later finds Lena wiping frantically at her cheeks with shaking hands, desperate to pull herself together because she’s missing a Chemistry lesson just three doors away (not that they’re learning anything she doesn’t already know, of course) and Kara’s probably getting suspicious and God _dammit_, she needs to _not_ be losing the plot right now in a bout of irrational panic, especially not when she knows damn well it won’t do a bloody thing to help her. 

When she’s about ten feet from the Chemistry labs, she unlocks her phone, swiping to the side for a camera and eyeing her appearance with clinical displeasure—her pale cheeks are blotchy and pink, sharp green eyes rimmed with vivid hues of red, her bottom lip bleeding in one place where she’d bitten it raw. 

After a long moment, she resigns herself to the fact that there’s nothing she can possibly do about it (which there isn’t), and heaves a quiet sigh before gripping the knob and cracking the door ajar; she slips in with her gaze resolutely downcast, shuffling her feet and sliding demurely into her seat besides Kara, who she can literally _feel_ looking at her with visceral concern that seems to cut her to the very core. 

“Are you okay?” Kara asks, her voice low and serious—she’s leaning closer to Lena now, the forest-y smell of her positively _intoxicating_, and Lena truly can’t figure out if she wants to run or get closer. 

“Fine,” she manages, though her words come out weak and shaky, causing the crease between Kara’s furrowed brows to grow ever deeper by the second. “What’d I miss?”

At that, Kara huffs out an amused breath (though the worry is still quite evident on her features). “Like it’s anything you don’t already know.”

Lena blinks. “Huh?”

“I've read about your molecular compound dispersion device. You’re a teenaged genius, according to the Internet, and for what it’s worth, I’m inclined to agree.”

Lena flushes immediately. “H-How’d you find that?”

Kara shoots her a lopsided smirk that makes her heart stop in her chest. “Is it so ridiculous that I might actually enjoy reading about groundbreaking scientific developments in my free time?”

“Well, I—No, I—"

“It’s ‘cause I’m a jock, isn’t it?”

Lena promptly chokes on air. “W-What? N—No, of course not, I—"

“Lena,” Kara stops her, a wide grin on her features. “I’m kidding.”

Lena’s face floods with warmth. “Right.”

“Do you wanna get food with me after school?”

Lena’s sure her brain stops working right then, because the second she thinks she’s finally begun to decipher this whole enigmatic 'socializing with your crush’ puzzle, Kara flips a 180, and now she doesn’t know for the life of her why she thought she’d figured any of it out in the first place, because it’s quickly becoming very clear to her and God and everyone else that she really, really hasn't. 

A strangled sound escapes her throat, high-pitched and horrifically off-key, and honestly she’s not quite certain what she’d meant it to be in the first place but either way it’s not even remotely discernible—as a result, Kara is now staring at her with a look caught halfway between amusement and concern, deep furrows in her golden brows, and Lena has never been so wistful for the ability to disappear on the spot, like, _now_. 

She clears her throat, cheeks flaming hotly. “I’m sorry,” she apologizes, shaking her head ruefully at herself. “I—You make me nervous.”

Immediately, Kara tilts her head, eyes thoughtful—she looks troubled, Lena thinks with a pang of discontent. 

“Don’t apologize. I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable,” Kara muses more to herself than anyone else, her expression wrought with guilt. “I know I can be a lot—I—"

“N-No!” Lena practically shouts, and she blushes at her own earnestness. “It’s not your fault, I just—I’m not good with… people.”

A moment later, Kara breaks into a grateful grin. “That’s okay. I like you.”

Lena can feel her blush reaching the tips of her ears. “I like you, too,” she mumbles, and Kara beams. 

“So. Food after school?”

Lena thinks about Lillian and Lex, about the anger she'll inevitably have to face from her adoptive mother if she says yes, about the fear running rampant through her systems at the current moment. 

Setting her jaw decisively, she turns to give Kara a warm smile even as everything within her positively screams, _'This is a terrible idea!’_

“I’d love to.”

— —

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> am i a scientist? no definitely not so um. if that sciency part is grossly inaccurate? sorry dudes 0_o


	2. field goal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kara and Lena hang out. It's cute.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> short update buuuut hope you like!

It’s now 3:30, Kara has driven her to Noonan’s on a freaking _motorcycle_ (which she evidently shares with Alex), and on top of that, the very well-muscled girl has just scarfed down, and Lena shits you not here, three 6-inch subs, a family-sized platter of potstickers, and what probably amounts to an entire loaf of garlic bread in the space of easily less than 10 minutes as Lena picks noncommittally at her kale salad.

Truly, Lena doesn’t know whether to be impressed and slightly turned on or just more shocked and vaguely concerned—in the end, she settles for the former, because Kara is smiling at her like _that_, and every time she moves the muscles in her golden arms jump and flex as if they’ve made it their personal mission to render Lena entirely unable to think (which, unfortunately, is working), and for the second time since they've met up for… whatever this is, Kara calls her ‘cute,’ and honestly, Lena is quite sure she’s about to spontaneously implode if this all goes any further.

“Okay, so tell me the truth here,” Kara begins, scrunching her nose at Lena’s plate of greens like it’s just personally offended her in some wholly unforgivable way—which Lena finds adorable, obviously. “Do you really like that stuff?”

Lena allows a genuine smile to pull at her lips. “Sort of? I don’t mind it, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“But then why eat it if you don’t love it?”

Lena flushes slightly, already uncomfortable with the direction this conversation is taking—she doesn’t want to answer truthfully here, knows it’ll be just short of a massive overshare if she does, and Kara didn’t ask for that. No, Kara Danvers just wanted a nice fun after-school snack with a friend, not to be forced to play therapist for every one of Lena’s personal problems—so, that’s what Lena will give her, she decides.

She doesn’t lie, but she feels bad all the same with the answer she settles on: “We can’t all be superstar athletes and eat whatever we want, hm?”

It’s a teasing quip, a cop-out that Kara immediately chuckles at in response, because she’s nice like that—and still, the tiny kernel of guilt in Lena’s gut persists. 

“So, you don’t like sports?”

Lena pouts, feigning thoughtfulness for a moment. “Does shopping count?”

Kara purses her lips together in an effort to keep her smile from widening—it doesn’t work, her eyes scrunching cutely at the corners, and Lena smiles warmly back. “Actually, maybe it should.”

Lena giggles, shaking her head. “C’mon, Kara, you don’t have to say that just because I—"

“I’m not!” Kara protests, her earnest words muffled by a large mouthful of garlic bread—at Lena’s bemused look, she flushes, then takes her time to swallow the food, holding up a single finger to indicate that she has something to say afterwards. 

“Okay, seriously,” she continues after a minute or so, undeterred by Lena’s smirk. “I went shopping once with my foster mom Eliza for the first time, ‘cause I was adopted,” Lena’s brows rise at that new piece of information, but soon enough Kara is quickly steamrolling on (Lena makes a note to ponder the whole ‘adopted’ piece later), “and she used a bunch of these coupons and drove us to like three different shops that were all for the same thing but they weren’t because some of them had better prices for some things and some of them had better prices for other things and Ra—Wow, you know? It was really impressive,” Kara tells her matter-of-factly, and Lena’s chest blooms with warmth. "It still is.”

“I don’t think I’m quite on your mother’s level, but I’m just glad you’re not laughing right now.”

Kara gasps audibly, looking rather affronted by the prospect. “What? No! I—Lena, I’d never laugh at you,” she insists with adorable ardor, her blue-eyed gaze wide and intent and _sincere_ in a way Lena’s positive she’s never known before, and all of a sudden Lena’s not quite sure whether she wants to hug her or break down crying. 

“Can I ask you a question?” she says instead, trying her very best to keep the anxiety she feels mounting in her chest from showing while she picks at a thrush clump of kale on her plate. 

A shit-eating grin spreads on Kara’s features. “You just did.”

Lena rolls her eyes, though she’s not upset—far from it, actually. “You know what? Fine,” she asserts, a single brow quirked. "Now you’ll never know what I was gonna ask.”

Instantly, she’s jutting out her bottom lip in an absolutely devastating pout, looking for all the world as if Lena's just kicked her puppy. 

“Please?” Kara prods, wide-eyed gaze filled with a kind of sincerity that Lena’s sure will collapse her entirely like a flimsy house of cards if she’s not careful. “For me?”

Lena makes a show of biting her lip in thought (Kara’s eyes linger on the movement, and internally she lauds herself for that), but she knows she’s going to tell her anyways, knows damn well she’s defenseless against that _bloody_ pout, and judging by the prematurely victorious twinkle in Kara’s impossibly blue eyes, she knows it, too. 

“Fine. God, I don’t like that,” she concedes, gesturing vaguely at Kara’s kicked-puppy features. 

Kara chuckles, rapidly dropping the pout in favor of a wide smile, by all accounts looking far too pleased with herself. “Alex says it’s impossible to resist.”

“Alex is right,” Lena mumbles, more to herself than to Kara, and the girl laughs, full-bodied and unfettered—it might just be the most beautiful thing Lena’s ever heard, and it’s more than enough to make her forget about Lex and Lillian and all the reasons she shouldn’t let herself be so goddamned complacent in the first place. “When’s the game?”

Kara jolts in her seat at that, bending to squint at the blocky watch on her wrist and—

“Oh, Ra—Golly!” she exclaims, and Lena snorts.

“‘Golly’?” she repeats, bemusement in her tone. 

Kara bites her lip. “Is that weird?”

“Um—" Lena halts herself, unable to focus under the weight of Kara’s gorgeous stare. “No, I—No, definitely not.” She clears her throat, cheeks flushed. “So, ‘golly’ what?”

Kara stares for a long moment, her attentions drifting not-so-subtly to Lena’s lips, and Lena’s heart begins to beat abnormally fast in her chest even as she knows she shouldn’t be so foolish and presumptuous as to think _Kara Danvers_, of all people, might like her back.

“Kara?” she tries again after another minute or so of radio silence, and instantly Kara starts, looking almost rueful as her cheeks flush a delectable pink. 

“S-Sorry, Lee,” Lena’s heart skips a beat at the nickname, but she forces her expression to remain neutral. “I just—My game’s in 45 minutes.”

Lena’s eyes widen. “Shit! Kara, I’m so _so_ sorry, I—” 

“No!” Kara practically yelps, impulsively placing her hand atop Lena’s, the touch warm and tingly and _intoxicating_—suddenly, Lena can’t remember for the life of her what she was attempting to say. “No, don’t apologize, okay? I _love_ being with you.”

At that, Lena lets out an undignified squeak even as Kara just smiles pleasantly at her like nothing’s wrong, because did she really not understand how that sounded? Evidently not, because Lena can literally feel herself slowly losing the oxygen flow to her brain, and Kara is there with that ever-sunny smile, and Holy _shit_, Lena is not prepared for this.

“I—I—" she stammers, her brain feeling very much as if it’s just lost all basic functions. “You—"

“I can drive you back to your house, if you want,” Kara offers through a mouthful of food (which shouldn’t be that fucking adorable but somehow just _is_), already scarfing down the rest of her potstickers and garlic bread at warp speed as Lena watches in something of a daze. 

“I, um—No! No, that’s fine, I can just—"

“I’m not gonna leave you here, Lee,” she asserts, her tone steely and uncompromising—it’s that and the use of the nickname that shatters Lena's resolve with almost embarrassing ease, and a second later she’s nodding her assent, cheeks flaming. 

“O-Okay. You can just drive me back to school?”

Kara frowns. “Are you sure? I figured you would want to go home… “

Lena quirks a brow at Kara, suddenly feeling an explicable kind of confidence rising within her. “And miss National City High’s star point-guard eviscerating the competition?”

Kara flushes instantly and breaks into a blinding smile, a hand coming up to fiddle nervously with her glasses. “You’d really do that for me?”

“You know, maybe it has nothing to do with you,” Lena protests, though it sounds weak even to her own ears. “Maybe I’m just really into basketball.”

Kara’s grin grows wider. “What’s it called when you score points?”

_Shit_. “… Field goal?”

Kara chuckles, and Lena’s heart skips a beat even as she knows she’s just failed the test. 

“It’s called a basket, but I’ll give it to you anyways ‘cause you’re cute.” _Holy shit_. Kara sips at her drink once more, blissfully oblivious to Lena’s spectacular bout of panic at being called ‘cute’ by Kara Danvers for the third time. “Ready to go?”

“I—yeah,” she manages to stutter out, and she’s sure her blush reaches the tips of her ears when Kara stands to offer a single outstretched hand for Lena to take. 

She holds the door open for Lena, too, and, _Yep_, Lena thinks while they’re driving back (on a freaking _motorcycle_, no less) to National High (and she somehow doesn’t find the blaring NSYNC a nuisance because Kara’s singing and humming in her seat without a care in the world as Lena hangs on for dear life, and it’s quite possibly the cutest thing she’s ever heard). _I’m so fucked_. 

— —

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sldkjslkfdj idk why but this inspiration for like. lena being all "... field goal?" just came from high school musical right where ms. darbus and troy's dad are like arguing in front of the principal about theatre vs basketball and troy's dad is all "basketball is great for all these reasons and blah blah blah" and ms darbus is all "basketball??34! basketball is about young boys in baggy shorts flinginG balls for toUCHdowns!!!" and troy's dad is all :0 
> 
> and idk maybe this is just 'cause i spent all of high school bein a dumb jock (so like. the egregious inaccuracy of that statement wasn't lost on me) but like that was so mcfucking funny to me and still is sldkfjsldfkjlkdj


	3. basketball

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lena goes to the basketball game, and runs into a familiar face. (dun dun DUUUUUN)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> iTS STILL a mental breakdown kids!!! but its cuTE and im CUTE and thATS what matters

Lena doesn’t know much about art—well, besides the fact that she’s absolutely horrid at it. 

But, there’s something about watching Kara Danvers play basketball… it’s like art, or something better. Something awe-inspiring. 

And the worst part is, it shouldn’t be. 

Lena doesn’t even _care_ about basketball, much less the rag-tag varsity team for National City High. 

What’s more, she’s sitting in a smelly gym with an array of obnoxiously bright lights and sweaty bodies of preoccupied students all around her—some are girls in jean shorts and cutesy crop tops huddled up and gossiping about this and that over their illuminated phone screens; some are parents yelling and cheering for their kid from their seats while the players’ siblings sit with earbuds in and a permanent ‘I don’t want to be here’ scowl upon their ashen features (the very picture of teenaged angst); some (or one, really) are Lena, sitting primly in the very back against the walls (far too shy to sit any closer up), a doodle-ridden notebook in her lap, where she’s currently sketching out a comprehensive proof for the Riemann Hypothesis, something she tends to do only when she’s bored or particularly nervous. 

She doesn’t get very far, though, because soon enough the announcer is yelling fanatically into the mic, raving about something called a "tip-off," and a second later, ten girls are taking the court (five from each team) and Alex Danvers is stepping up to the center circle (her jersey has the number ‘2’ on its front and back), clad in the school’s trademark blue-and-gold and bearing a thin sheen of sweat from… warm-ups? 

Lena isn’t sure what it was called, but both teams had been running around flinging their balls at the metal hoop for the last thirty minutes, and Lena, being the prudent observer she was, had eventually come to the conclusion that they were (most likely) doing warm-ups, or whatever it’s called when the sport kids run around and give each other high-fives and yell at each other to “Get your ass in line, Vasquez!” (Alex, obviously) in preparation for a match. 

But anyways. 

Alex Danvers, laced up and ready to go, steps up to stand across from a beefy-looking and rather tall girl dressed in her school’s whites and greens atop the center circle in (presumed) preparation for this “tip-off"; about five feet off to her right, a short Latina girl Lena thinks is named… Magaret Sawyer (?) stands, while a fiercely determined-looking Kara (sans the glasses) mirrors her off to the left with the number 11 stamped on either side of her jersey, her golden arms devastatingly bare and dotted with sweat that Lena yearns to taste—

Ahem. Moving on.

There’s another girl that Lena doesn’t know standing a good ten feet behind Alex, toned and freckled with long locks of golden-blonde hair pulled back into a ponytail, and when she turns Lena can read the name ‘Lance’ emblazoned above the number ‘9’ on her red-and-blue jersey. 

The aforementioned ‘Vasquez' is there, too, the short-haired girl standing just outside the wide and thickly-painted arc on the far right side from Lena and flanked by an angry-looking and slightly taller green-and-white-clad player with chestnut brown hair and a permanent scowl on her pouty lips—a second later, and Lena’s hit with a dizzying wave of revelation, because she _knows_ her.

That’s _Mercy Graves_ shifting apprehensively from foot-to-foot beside a wide-eyed Vasquez, and Oh _shit_.

(They hadn’t seen one another in a good two and a half years—and honestly, Lena could’ve done without seeing her ever again.)

But, Lena isn’t given much time to examine that particular realization, because a second later there’s a stern-looking woman in a vertically striped black-and-white polo T-shirt throwing the reddish-orange basketball up in the air between Alex Danvers and the other team’s girl, followed by a shrill whistle that has Lena recoiling slightly in her seat even as uproarious cheers erupt from the crowd and both girls instantly jump after the airborne ball like their lives depend on it. 

The next couple minutes are a flurry of movement, whistles, cheers, along with an abundance of unmitigated chaos that leaves Lena utterly lost in its aftermath, a sensation she’s not all that familiar with on a frankly innate level—because everything just made sense to Lena; at least, on a conceptual level.

Science, and maths, and Calculus, and English—there hadn’t been a single point in her classes for at least the past decade that had confused her, and, considering she’d been switching schools at an alarming pace since long before she can reasonably remember, she knows that that’s quite an impressive feat in and of itself. 

But, this? Mindless boos and ear-splitting cheers and sweaty girls diving onto solid hardwood flooring for a single bouncy orange ball like it’s the only thing that matters—in every sense of the word, Lena is just downright _lost_.

Through it all, though, there is one thing that becomes painfully apparent: Kara Danvers is good at basketball. _Really_ good.

And yeah, maybe Lena still doesn’t know what it’s called when you put the ball in the round metal hoop and you get two or three points on the scoreboard for your accomplishment (she thinks it might be a touchdown?), but she can discern enough to understand that when you do, it’s a good freaking thing. 

And, Kara? 

Kara scores a lot of those ball-in-the-hoop points, not to mention she looks damn good while doing it (something that frustrates Lena even as it makes warmth settle in her stomach, because how can someone be dripping in sweat and noticeably flushed but still so inexplicably _attractive?_). 

The muscles in her arm flex and jump like never before, and Lena’s hit with the sudden realization that she had no fucking _clue_ how sinfully toned Kara was, along with the equally abrupt revelation about why exactly it is that actors and actresses do push-ups and sit-ups before a shirtless scene to make their muscles appear more defined, because, Oh my _God_. 

If Lena thought Kara had ridiculously well-defined musculature all across her body before…. Well. 

This is torture. Or maybe karma. Though, for what, Lena’s not quite sure.

Of course, Lena knew she disliked sports, knew there was never a value to be found (at least, in her eyes) in prancing around a square-shaped playing area and flinging balls for imaginary points and touchdowns—but really, this was just a whole new level of unfair. 

Alex and Kara work ridiculously well together, constantly in-sync (which Lena supposes she should have expected), managing to propel numerous entirely absurd (and nearly impossible in a physics sense) throws to each other from either side of the court, finding gaps in the other team’s defensive formation and weaving their way to the tall metal hoop with a sort of ease that’s just… art, really. Lena doesn’t know that she can find another word. 

There’s one play where, as best as Lena can describe it, Kara Danvers bounces the ball up the court (like she’d done on every one of their team’s turns down the floor, which Lena learns after a quick Google search is kind of what a point-guard’s job _is_ ), then passes it to Alex outside the sweeping black-painted arc before tearing quickly forward and through towards the opposing team's hoop—a second later, Alex chucks the ball to bounce between one defending girl’s freaking _legs_ and reach a still-moving Kara with startling speed about five feet from the hoop, who then snatches the ball with both hands and immediately launches herself into the air (clearly undaunted by the _very_ tall girl from the other team attempting to block her way), close enough to the hoop that Lena thinks she’s about to do a ‘dunk’ like she’d seen a couple times on TV; instead, Kara just tosses the ball underhanded into the red-orange-painted metal circle like it’s the simplest thing in the world, the muscles of her tricep moving in such a way that Lena’s sure she’s going to faint while the ball clears the net with a light _swish!_ and cheers erupt from the crowd. 

And all too soon, it’s over, Kara and Alex and the rest of their team sprinting back to defend their own hoop with steely resolve as the green-and-white team’s mousy brunette point guard bounces the ball back up the court—and Lena is there, sitting in the bleachers, her notes on the Riemann Sum entirely forgotten, because, Holy _shit_. 

(Mercy looks positively murderous as she runs to and fro across the playing field, unable to stop Kara and Alex from eviscerating her team’s defenses—but really, Lena can’t find it in herself to care all that much.)

Her phone rings a couple times throughout the rest of the game, and she feels the buzzing vibration of various texts (undoubtedly from Lex and Lillian, both unsavory characters likely communicating their poignant disapproval for whatever it is she’s meant to have done now), but she ignores them, a gamble she very rarely allows herself to take. (Or never, really.)

But, there’s something she can’t shake about being here, about forgetting for a moment (without alcohol or laced marijuana or bad habits and worse decisions) and just watching Kara do impressive things; it’s almost… _therapeutic_, in a way (though Lena most certainly wouldn’t know, because Luthors didn’t do ’therapy'). Safe. 

Lena can’t quite decide if that’s good or just fucking terrifying.

(In the end, she settles for a little bit of both.) 

One thing’s for sure, though: There’s no way that this (whatever _this_ is) ends well. 

— — 

After the game (the National City Lions beat the Smallville Eagles 74 - 55, with Kara scoring 32 of their 74 total points), Lena puts her plan into action: hurry down the bleachers, speed-walk for the exit, and with any luck, she won’t have to face Kara or Mercy or anyone else… Though, admittedly, those two are entirely opposite ends of the spectrum—Lena doesn’t want to talk to Kara because she knows damn well she’ll turn promptly into a heaping gay mess around the most beautiful girl she’s ever seen, but she’s avoiding Mercy purely because she doesn’t have the energy for a confrontation, or to hear about how terribly she’s disappointing her fellow members of the exclusive 1%, or any part of the brutal verbal lashing Mercy has no doubt been preparing for Lena since the day she left.

Kara is currently filing into the locker room with the rest of the National City varsity squad, presumably for an after-game talk (is that a thing? Lena has no idea), and Mercy’s team is doing the same (though Mercy herself is conspicuously absent from the lineup), and Lena thinks she’s in the clear once she’s left the gym, can see the exit just feet away, and—

“Lena Luthor,” a raised and velvety voice hails behind her in an almost predatory purr, and Lena fights the urge to slam her head against the set of double doors before her, the fluorescent red ‘Exit’ sign above them seeming to mock her as she turns slowly back to face a sweat-drenched Mercy with a horribly smug grin on her pretty features. 

“Mercy,” she manages, fighting hard to keep her tone even. (It only sort of works.) “Long time.”

Mercy pouts theatrically, hands on her hips, “What, no hug?” she teases, the smirk spreading wider across her cheeks. 

Lena doesn’t smile back. “You played well.” She doesn’t mean it, but if she’s learned anything over the years it’s that politeness is always the safest bet; sassing Lillian had never got her anything but harsh words and powerful smacks across the cheek and an ever-growing feeling of worthlessness sinking deep into her very bones.

“I didn’t know you were a basketball fan.”

“I’m not.” Lena shrugs, not bothering to offer up a better explanation (it’s not as if she owes Mercy such a thing anyhow), a distinctly unpleasant feeling crawling up her spine. "Shouldn’t you be with your team?”

Mercy waves dismissively, and Lena fights the urge to flinch at the sudden movement. “They’ll be fine without me. I wanted to talk to you.”

Lena clenches her jaw, feeling herself quickly approaching her admittedly rather limited ‘patience’ threshold. “About what?”’

“Aw, c’mon, hon,” Mercy prods, chocolate brown eyes flashing with mirth. “Don’t be like that.”

“Don’t call me that.”

Mercy chuckles. “Touchy.”

Lena heaves a long sigh, crossing her arms in a bold show of defiance (even though she thinks she's about a second away from a full-blown panic attack). “I’d like to go home, Mercy. I’m tired, and I’ve had a long day. So, say what you need to say, please.” 

Mentally, she lauds herself for her considerable poise (she only wavered on the last syllable), because really, that’s a bloody achievement, what with how rapidly she can feel herself spiraling. 

Mercy, for her part, just looks rather put-out, a dangerous fire returning to her eyes (one that Lena knows all too well). “Feisty, aren’t you?” Lena glares. “I just wanted to talk because I’ve missed you, Lee; is that really so hard to believe?”

“Well, considering it’s a bold-faced lie, I’d say yes.”

Mercy huffs out an amused breath of air, shaking her head almost condescendingly at Lena—and with that, Lena feels the last of her resolve burn into white-hot flames of rage, turning on her heel with a muttered “Goodbye, Mercy,” caught between crying and screaming as she reaches for the doors. 

And just before she can, she feels it—a rough hand curling tightly around her wrist, the sensation all too familiar, and Lena fights the urge to turn and throw up on the girl whom she can’t stand to be near. Not right now. 

(Not after that night.) 

Instead, she turns back as calmly as she can manage, eyes flitting down to Mercy’s firm grip on her wrist with clinical distaste (even as waves of powerful nausea curl in her stomach). “Let go.”

Mercy’s eyes flash dangerously again in the dim hallway lighting, and Lena resists the urge to shudder under its blazing intensity. “Do _not_ walk away from me.”

Lena’s heartbeat hammers in her chest as she fights to control the palpable fear mounting within her, the splintered memories bombarding her on every side. “Let. _Go_.” 

Mercy takes another step forward into Lena’s personal space, leaving only inches between them. “No.”

“I—"

“You heard her, Graves,” a voice calls, confident and firm, and both girls whirl around to see none other than Kara Danvers approaching them, dotted with sweat and flushed a delectable pink, wearing black Adidas joggers and a navy blue zip-up hoodie with the National City High crest emblazoned in red and gold on its front. “Let her go.”

Mercy just glares for a long moment, and Lena suppresses a wince at the crushing pressure around her wrist—Kara doesn’t back down, though, something like steely determination in her usually kind blue eyes, and a second later, Mercy is releasing Lena’s smarting wrist with a frustrated snarl. 

“This is none of your business, Danvers,” she growls, stepping closer to Kara, chin lifted and gaze narrowed in an unmistakable challenge. 

Kara eyes her coolly, looking impressively undeterred in the face of Mercy’s… _aggressive_ behavior—it’s kind of hot, actually. No, scratch that; it’s _really_ hot, Lena thinks even as she knows she should be focusing on stopping the epic throw down about to happen in the halls of National City High rather than how well those joggers hug Kara’s shapely legs or the slight flush tinging her cheeks from exertion or how obscenely _kissable_ her pouty pink lips look at the moment—

“Lena’s my friend, and I don’t like people hurting my friends, so I’d say it is,” Kara counters calmly, though there’s a flash of something chilling in her stare, something that sets every nerve alight in Lena’s body with flares of excitement, of _arousal_. “Now, back off.”

Mercy’s sneer deepens, but she doesn’t respond, just smiles icily before slowly shuffling backwards. “I’ll see you around, Luthor,” she tells Lena with a purposeful nod, sending a pang of fear through Lena’s gut—and then, she’s leaving, still in her white-and-green basketball uniform, out through the doors and into the night without a backwards glance. 

The second she’s gone, Lena shudders, letting out a slow breath to gather herself; then she turns back to a worried-looking Kara, fixing a shaky smile onto her features. 

“Good game,” she manages with a weak chuckle, feeling for all the world as if she might faint at any second, and the crease between Kara’s brow deepens. 

“Lena, are you—are you okay?” she asks, sounding rather frantic, already reaching out a tentative for her and frowning slightly with a hurt expression on her features when Lena recoils violently in response. 

“I—Sorry,” she scrambles to explain, to fix things, her thoughts going a million miles an hour. “I—Just—I’m fine, I—I’m sorry,” she finishes lamely, her cheeks burning hotly under Kara’s intent gaze. 

Kara nods, looking unconvinced, but she doesn’t push the issue—for that, Lena feels like hugging her. “Okay, I just—Well, can I give you a ride home, maybe?”

Lena forces a chuckle, though it sounds off-key to her ears, strange—and by the deepening crinkle in Kara’s brow, she can hear it, too. 

“No, that’s—There’s no need for that, Kara. I’m sure you’re eager to get home and shower and… all that.” _Idiot_, her brain bemoans, and she really can’t find it in herself to argue with that assertion. _You useless, gay idiot_.

Kara frowns, her blue-eyed gaze turning pleading, and _Dammit_, Lena can already feel her defenses crumbling at her feet. “Please, Lena? It’ll make me feel better. I—I need to know you’re safe.”

That, on top of Lex and Mercy and the raging lecture she knows is coming from Lillian when she arrives home, is more than enough to snap her resolve entirely, the only coherent thought in her brain being: _Huh?_

It's unfamiliar, the innately open way in which Kara _cares_ above everything, the endless capacity she has to tell Lena devastating things like “I need to know you’re safe” and “You’re cute” and all the rest of it when they’d only met a couple days ago. 

“I—Okay,” she stammers out, and honestly she can’t be all that upset with her sudden inability to speak, because she’s just unspeakably relieved she managed a semi-coherent response at all. 

Instantly, the softest of grins spreads across Kara’s dewy features, and Lena feels like breaking—though, not in the way she’s used to. It’s better somehow, and she welcomes it, welcomes the fall if she knows Kara’s going to be there to catch her. 

God, she needs to get herself together. 

Though, in her defense, it’s rather hard to do so when she’s clutching her arms tight around Kara’s well-muscled torso for the second time in less than three hours, hanging on for dear life on the back of her motorcycle as she roars swiftly (but safely, 'cause she’s Kara Danvers and Lena’s already quite certain she’s the softest person Lena has ever known) towards the address Lena had given her—one a couple houses down from Luthor Mansion, because she’s sure Lillian would have a fit if she saw Lena dismounting from a real-life motorcycle owned by the star point-guard of the National City High basketball team on their front stoop, and really, Lena can’t afford to piss her off any further. Not tonight. 

Not when she's already dreading the degrading insults she’ll have to endure, and the ever-increasing likelihood that Lillian will deliver a couple hard smacks for her troubles (Lillian typically began drinking around 5pm, just before dinner; she only got more unpleasant as the night went on). 

It's well past 8:00pm when they arrive, according to the time on Kara’s dashboard, and Lena fights to keep her heart rate under control even as she _knows_ she’s a walking target for Lillian’s ire the second she steps foot through the door. 

It’s well past 8:00pm, and Lena’s terrified, and there’s dread and nausea rising in her throat—and then Kara turns to her after helping her off the motorcycle seat, blue eyes filled with sincerity and a sort of affection that makes Lena’s eyes burn with tears. 

“You can always talk to me, Lee… You know that, right?” Kara tells her softly, her earnest features illuminated somewhat under the soft yellowy light of the road, and Lena nearly bursts right then, is so close to telling her everything because she can’t _take_ it anymore, can’t fight this any longer, doesn’t know—

_Buzz-buzz!_ her phone sounds in her pocket, insistent and angry, and the moment is abruptly shattered—Lena’s not sure whether to be angry or grateful. 

“I know, Kara,” she responds, sadness creeping in her voice—and from the crestfallen look on Kara’s beautiful features, she can hear it, too. 

It’s like ripping a limb from her body, but she turns on her heel all the same, walking off into the night and leaving a doe-eyed Kara in her wake without an explanation or a reason for her sudden coldness—the tears fall fast and swift from her then as she approaches the pretentious lighting of Luthor Mansion twinkling brightly in the night, caught between hating herself and wanting Kara so desperately it hurts, between forcing herself to leave and deciding against all odds to stay; and still, she doesn’t turn back. 

It’s easily one of the most painful things she’s ever done. 

— —

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> listen to 'cold cold cold' by cage the elephant kids. its the MOVE


	4. stupid girl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the game.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> already had this written out, so let me know what you think? 
> 
> dont have much more written out, though, so i'm doin my best to work on it, but college is kicking my ass so

“Where have you been, girl?” 

Lena winces as the cold and horribly familiar tone of her adoptive mother fills the space, only having just shut the door behind her before she’s turning to face an impeccably-dressed (as always) Lillian with tentative eyes.

“Hello, Mother.”

Lillian’s lip curls, a sneer marring her her regal features—the only inclination that she’s been drinking is the slightly glazed-over look in her icy blue eyes paired with the subtle flush in her high cheekbones; still, Lena shivers, because she knows what those indicators mean. “I asked you a question.”

Lena bites her lip nervously. “I went to watch the school’s basketball game."

“You hate sports.”

Lena reflexively snorts, muttering out a spiteful, “Like you would know,” before she can do a thing to stop it, far too tired to restrain herself after Kara and Mercy and _Kara_.

She hears Lillian inhale sharply, sees her unfocused gaze narrowing dangerously at her, and she knows she’s fucked up—still, she maintains steadfast eye contact with Lillian as she steps closer, unwilling to break even as her knees tremble beneath her. 

Now only inches away, Lillian grips Lena’s chin _hard_, nails digging painfully into her jaw—Lena fights the urge to wince. 

“What did you just say to me?” she growls threateningly, fingers squeezing harder without reprieve, and Lena can nearly taste the pungent scent of whiskey on her breath. 

“N-Nothing, Mother. I’m sorry,” she tells her as calmly as she can manage (though her voice trembles noticeably on every other word), letting out a gasp of pain as she feels Lillian’s blunt manicured nails tear into her skin. “Please.”

At that, Lillian laughs, cold and hollow. “‘Please’?” Her nails dig further into Lena’s jaw, the skin ripping as Lena trembles. “Luthors do not beg, you _stupid_ girl.” Cerulean eyes flashing dangerously, Lillian releases Lena with an inelegant sound of disgust, shaking her head like she’s disappointed in her as Lena rubs the throbbing skin at her throat with watering eyes, only marginally startled by the warm droplets of blood smearing themselves across her fingertips whilst she does. 

(It hurts a hell of a lot more than Lena will ever admit.)

“I’m sorry, Mother,” she says meekly—another try at reconciliation, at the admittedly slim but still ever-present tantalizing possibility that Lillian might let her go, that she won’t do any more damage… At least, not tonight. 

Lillian’s jaw clenches, but there’s an exhaustion in her eyes—Lena feels like breaking into a smile when she notes that. “Don’t test me, girl,” she warns her, yet there’s a finality to it, and Lena knows she’s safe. (For now.) “Off to bed with you. I can’t stand to look at you any longer.”

Tears burning in her eyes, Lena obeys, shuffling dutifully out the foyer and up the stairs towards her room, barely registering the sounds of Lex hard at work in his office (because, yes, her 23-year-old brother has an _office_—something that comes with the territory of being a Luthor, she supposes) as she slips carefully into her well-kempt room, a muffled sob escaping her throat, Lillian’s harsh words on repeat in her brain like a broken record.

_“I can’t stand to look at you any longer”… “Stupid girl”…_

Another sob escapes her and she’s collapsing weakly into her plush bed with black silken sheets, curled up like a little girl, knees tucked tightly to her chest, muffled gasps escaping her throat and making her genuinely fear for a moment that she might hyperventilate. 

She doesn’t tuck herself in, doesn’t turn off the obscenely pretentious lamp on her nightstand—she just cries, broken and desperate, hugging her knees to her chest like it might somehow make her feel less alone. (It doesn’t.)

And just as she’s drifting off to sleep, she sees a familiar face amidst her world that crumbles around her: impossibly blue eyes and a sunny smile and golden-blonde hair—_Kara_.

It doesn’t make things better, per se, but it does provids a sort of warmth she can’t ignore, and despite the tear tracks drying on her reddened cheeks, she goes to sleep that night with the barest hint of a smile on her wrecked features, Kara’s musical laugh echoing in her thoughts. 

— — 

The next morning, Lena’s less thrown by the sight of Kara Danvers (dressed in a seriously breathtaking combination of black Adidas joggers and a grey long-sleeved cotton crew neck that reads “2010 Midvale Cultural Food Bazaar” in navy-blue block letters) waiting for her on the steps of National City High, a blinding grin on her beautiful face—but, still, it’s jarring nonetheless.

And, maybe, just maybe, some small part of her had been expecting this, because she doesn’t wear her tightest blue jeans (they make her ass look fantastic) and blood-red tube-top for just anyone, not to mention she took the time this morning to straighten her jet-black hair and apply the barest hints of mascara and contouring to render her angular features almost deadly in their cutting appearance. 

She didn’t bother dusting more than a slight amount of concealer around the half-moon crescent marks left by Lillian’s impeccably manicured (unreasonably _long_) nails the night before in a slapdash attempt to hide the purplish bruising surrounding each scabbed-over imprint—it doesn’t do all that much, and although she takes feels a significant sense of _warmth_ welling in her chest when Kara’s jaw hangs wide open as she approaches, she feels a sense of ice-cold dread building up, too, because it’s only a matter of time before—

Kara’s ocean-blue eyes widen as if on cue then, her gaze darting quickly up from Lena’s jean-clad thighs to focus intently on the reddened skin just beneath Lena’s sparingly-contoured jawline, and Lena instantly feels a hot blush spreading across her cheeks, one that she prays isn’t visible from beneath the powdery cosmetics dusting both cheekbones. 

“L-Lena!” Kara stammers out when they’re just a foot apart, various chattering students milling past them to climb the stone steps, the golden sunlight falling across Kara in such a way that sets her cerulean-blue eyes ablaze, and God, but there’s not much else Lena can manage to make herself focus on, even as the biting reminder of last night beneath her jaw wracks her with pinpricks of achey soreness. 

“Hi, Kara,” she murmurs out shyly as she shifts nervously from foot to foot (she takes a second to thank God she didn’t wear her heels, and instead opted for a simple pair of high-top black Converse sneakers, because she’s not sure she’d be able to keep her balance right now if she hadn’t). Kara’s glacial blue eyes don’t move from her neck, something almost _dangerous_ flashing in her hypnotic gaze, and Lena fights the urge to shrivel under the weight of it. 

She knows it’s irrational, knows it doesn’t make the faintest hint of logical sense, but she can’t help the flashes of Lillian’s anger and the phantom burn of her hand hitting Lena _hard_ across the cheek and the profusion of frantic voices screaming in her head that she’s not safe here, that she’s about to witness a sordid (not to mention entirely unsolicited) repeat of last night, that Kara’s going to hurt her if she doesn’t run away and _fast_. 

“Lena?” Kara asks gently, reaching out a hand in what seriously looks like slow-motion, and God, Lena doesn’t want to flinch away but she does before she can think better of it, a tidal wave of self-hatred hitting her like a wall at the hurt look on Kara’s features almost instantaneously after it happens. “What’s wrong?”

“I—“ she tries to say something, _anything_, but the words feel inexplicably stuck in her throat and the chilling fear rises unbidden in her chest and God, it’s too much, it’s too _much_—before she can stop herself, her body is abruptly propelling herself past Kara without ceremony, robotically climbing the steps more on instinct than anything else, oblivious to the way Kara’s worried voice calls hesitantly after her as she inserts herself in a hoard of bustling students, their mindless chatter eventually drowning out anything and everything until finally, _finally_, Lena can breathe again. 

_Stupid girl_, Lillian’s chilling tone sneers in her brain, echoing relentlessly on a loop even as she shuts her eyelids tight in an attempt to block it out, her fingers tightening around the rough straps of her charcoal-grey book bag—God, it’s going to be a long day. 

— — 

She has Chemistry first with a wide-eyed Kara Danvers, because she supposes that the world isn’t quite finished with ensuring she has the worst possible day imaginable—Kara looks incredible as ever, short blonde hair perfectly windswept (even when Lena knows very well that the girl probably didn’t do a thing to style it, and rather just rolled out of bed looking so unreasonably supermodel handsome purely as a way to torture Lena for… well, she’s not sure what for, honestly, but the fact remains that it’s bloody _painful_ as is). 

Kara looks incredible, and Lena can’t even pretend to pay attention to today’s lesson molar mass and percent composition (because, really, she could do this in her sleep), and God help her but she just wants to leave. 

She’s not sure where she’d go, of course, because ‘home’ is probably the last place she wants to be at the current moment (or at any moment, really), and it’s not as if she has any ‘friends’ to be banking on now that things seem to have taken a rather climactic turn for the worst (even by her standards), but the fact remains that she doesn’t want to be _here_ right now with phantom nails digging into her jaw and Kara’s earnest blue-eyed stare unwaveringly upon her and a feeling of such unavoidable worthlessness seeping into her very bones even as she internally _begs_ it to plague her another day. 

She could handle it another day, she thinks. (Even if that’s probably one of the more pitiable bold-faced lies she’s ever deigned to tell herself.)

She could handle it some other time, when Lillian goes back to ignoring her rather than actively working to tear her down with biting insults and the occasional backhand, when perfect endlessly attractive Kara Danvers has moved along from whatever it is that possessed her to seek Lena (of all people) out in the first place, when Lex’s sentient demands aren’t burning a hole through her very being with every second she feels his sheer force of will tearing at what little remains of her determination 'til there’s nothing left for her to cower behind. 

(She’s still waiting for his call—she knows it’s not far off, knows that he’ll be furious, knows that she’s dug herself a hole deeper than ever before that will no doubt end so much worse than she could ever imagine… but, God, it’s all too much and she’s just so fucking _tired_ and this, too: that Lena promised herself she’d be better than that, better than hating aliens for no good reason and acting a hell of a lot prouder than she has any right to act and freely giving her experimental technology to her rage-filled brother whom she knows will turn and promptly use it for ill. 

Maybe it’s just her guilty conscience speaking, or the fact that she doesn’t think she’d be able to justify living anymore with the blood of countless innocents on her hands—but, she can’t do that. 

She _won’t_. 

She’ll pay for that, she knows.)

But, instead, she’s here: sitting with ramrod-straight posture in her seat, Kara’s presence beside her warm and palpable and just _there_, which doesn’t get any better when you take into account the way Lena can feel Kara looking at her with those round, puppy-dog eyes, full of ardor and sincerity and something that far too closely resembles genuine _care_ for Lena’s comforts. 

She thinks it’s a blessing from God himself when the bell rings shrilly from down the hall to indicate the end of class and Lena can’t help herself from gathering her ridiculously heavy textbook and scarcely-used notepad and booking it out of the classroom as fast as she can manage, forcing herself not to pause at the forlorn look she can feel Kara Danvers giving her from their shared desk behind her.

_Fuck, it’s going to be a long day_, Lena thinks. 

— —

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> do you ever just have lena feelings that hit you like a mcfreakin train all about wanting to give her hugs and a healthy way of thinking about things and all that? asking for a friend


	5. alex danvers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lena has an... interesting interaction with Alex Danvers. Meanwhile, Lena does some thinking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> maybe i've had more inspiration for this? who can mcfreakin say
> 
> but finals are over so that's lit

Lex calls during third period Economics (Lena’s more taking the class to fulfill her required credits than anything else… she’s been well-versed in economic etiquette and proceedings since around the time she could walk whilst being meticulously groomed to supervise L-Corp one day at Lex’s feet)—Kara’s not there, but Alex Danvers is, and, when Lena rushes out with her phone cradled in her hand like a ticking time bomb and an expression of scarcely-concealed terror upon her features, she feels the sharp brown-eyed gaze of Kara’s elder sister upon her all the while and prays to a God she doesn’t believe in that she’s just imagining things.

She walks a couple hundred feet down the hall on shaky legs, her trembling thumb hovering indecisively over the green ‘Answer Call’ button before she’s whispering to herself, _“Fuck it,”_ and biting the metaphorical bullet, answering the call and bringing her phone reflexively up against her ear: “Hello, Lex,” she greets with a rather impressive (if she does say so herself) degree of faux pleasantry to her tone even as she can feel her heartbeat thudding in her ribcage and her skin crawling as she waits with bated breath for a reply. 

“Lena,” he spits balefully, and she has to fight the urge to flinch even with the knowledge that he isn’t here right now, that he can’t do a thing to harm her when he’s… well, wherever he is. 

(Clearly, she thinks about this quite a lot.)

“Wonderful weather we’re having, isn’t it?”

“Do _not_ mock me.”

Lena shuts her eyes then, steadying herself with a shaky inhale. (She doesn’t care that Lex can probably hear her doing it—she doesn’t care about much, really.) “Look, I’ve had a bad week, and you don’t exactly sound as if you’re about to award me the Kavli Prize, so can we just get this over with?”

“You think you’re funny, do you?” he sneers, clearly disgruntled, his voice hard and chilly across the line (so different from the idealistic and charismatic young boy Lena remembers adoring endlessly since their youth). 

Lena rubs tiredly at her temples, barely managing to withhold a heavy sigh. “Not particularly.” 

He doesn’t reply to that, and Lena suspects briefly that the call has somehow failed—but, a second later, and “I’m waiting,” he intones, low and grating and indubitably _chilling_ even without him physically here. 

(Lena abhors the effect he’s managing to have on her, even with her here and him… well, far enough away that he’s not exactly making house calls, she supposes.) 

“I—"

“Luthor!” a self-assured voice calls from behind, successfully startling her our of her thoughts and halting her speech—it’s Alex Danvers, she sees when she’s whirled around, phone still clutched limply up against her ear.

Alex Danvers, who’s striding confidently towards her in ripped black jeans and a blue-and-green plaid button down (_Okay lesbian_, Lena’s brain thinks unhelpfully) with a narrow brown-eyed gaze and lips pressed into a flat line—fuck, but Lena really can’t decide who she’d rather be dealing with at the current moment: Lex or… _this_.

“Um—I—Hi!” she tries, voice crackling horribly as she distractedly powers off her phone and slides it in the back pocket of her jeans. 

Alex Danvers’ resolute expression doesn’t fade as she comes to halt herself just a foot away from Lena, the taller girl easily towering over her in the vacant hallway even while Lena does her very best to muster up something like pleasant neutrality on her features. 

“Luthor,” Alex Danvers repeats (more like _growls_, really), jaw clenched tightly as she stares Lena down. “I need to talk to you.”

Lena blinks, resisting the urge to well and truly _break_ under Alex’s intimidating glare as her mind races to come up with a reasonable reply. “I… You're Alex. Kara’s sister.” _Jesus Christ_, she silently berates herself even as Alex quirks a single brow down at her, because, _Really? That’s the best you could come up with?_

“And you’re that Luthor girl my little sister likes so damn much.”

Lena swallows hard, feeling her cheeks heat at the mention of Kara. “I-It’s ‘Lena,’ actually—"

“Who hurt you?” Alex inquires quite suddenly then, and Lena’s confused for a split second until she sees it—Alex’s noticeably softer brown-eyed gaze fixed upon the crescent-shaped scabs lining her jaw, impeccably-done brows furrowed in confusion, something like genuine concern radiating off of the older girl in waves.

(Lena despises that she knows she can’t trust it.)

“I-I don’t… I… fell.”

Alex's brows furrow even further at that—all in all, she looks thoroughly unconvinced. “Try again.”

Lena sighs defeatedly, simultaneously fighting the urge to bristle. “It’s not any of your business.” 

Alex crosses her arms stubbornly at that, eyeing Lena up and down as if examining her in a new light. “Do you care about Kara?”

“I—What?” Lena blanches, even as Alex’s somber expression doesn’t change. 

“You heard me.”

“I—Yes, I care about K-Kara. Quite a lot, but I still don’t see how that’s—"

“Good,” Alex states matter-of-factly. “She cares a lot about you, too.”

Lena nearly chokes on air. “I… Thanks?”

“And, as long as she cares about you, I guess I gotta care, too. Even if you clearly fucked something up, and she’s been moping around the house like a lovesick puppy about it ever since.” Lena’s stomach churns upon hearing that, even as Alex continues briskly on, seemingly unfazed, "Do you see where this is going, Luthor?”

“It’s ‘Lena.'”

“Answer the question.”

Lena fights the urge to roll her eyes at that. “My life is none of your business, Alex Danvers.”

Alex doesn’t respond to that, just stares her down for a long moment—Lena’s sure she’s never felt so viscerally uncomfortable in her whole _life_. 

“Fine,” Alex bites out eventually, scrutinizing brown-eyed gaze still fixed intently upon Lena’s face as if operating under the rash presumption that looking long enough might provide her with the answers she’s (apparently) searching for. Then, she’s holding out her hand towards Lena, and telling her, “Give me your phone,” in that trademark no-nonsense _‘Fuck with me and I’ll fuck you up’_ tone Lena had come to fear rather early on despite never having been on the receiving end of it. (Well, she supposed, now she had.)

“What?”

Alex purses her lips, questing hazel eyes still boring uncomfortably into Lena's. “I don’t like repeating myself.” 

“Why do you want my phone?”

“Jesus Christ,” Alex laments, still not lowering her proffered hand. "I’m trying to give you my number, okay? In case you ever need, like… a friend, or… whatever.” 

“You can’t be serious.”

“It’s a one-time offer, Luthor.”

_What the hell_, she thinks. “I… Fine.”

— — 

“Lena!” Kara’s voice cuts through her like a blade even from down the hall, and she prays for the will to be stronger than that, stronger than the infuriatingly large piece of her that yearns to turn back and run straight into Kara’s arms and stay there because they’re the closest thing Lena’s known to a ‘home’ since long before she can remember anything, and God, but she _aches_ for something safer right now. 

She’s not quite sure whether she’s relieved or upset that she manages not to change course: clenching her jaw and gripping her economics textbook just a little bit tighter against her chest and walking steadfastly forward, one foot after another; one foot after another. 

She hates that she doesn’t want to run, hates that it feels like ripping a piece of her from deep inside her very core—and perhaps that’s why she does. 

Perhaps that’s what propels her to walk so briskly towards the exit up ahead, bumping shoulders with various students whose names she can’t for the life of her recall, consciously blocking out the mindless chatter of her peers until it fades to blissful white noise in her scattered brain… perhaps the fear is what drives her a great deal more than the undeniable need within her for something safer: the fear that someone whose impossibly blue eyes she’s only just beginning to know is worming their way so effortlessly into the core of her very being like it belongs there—like _she_ belongs there, so intricately intertwined with each fibre of Lena’s battered heart, she isn’t quite sure how she’d ever gotten along without it to begin with. 

_Christ, you need to get a grip_.

— — 

Kara calls later on, when Lena’s holed herself up at the library of the local college (National City University) on one of the quieter floors, a dozen books open on the table before her, only about one of which is even remotely relevant to what they’re teaching in her high school classes at the current moment… but, really, Lena’s never been one to wait for knowledge to come her way, and she doesn’t intend to start now. 

She’s about 70 pages into a fascinating read on the projected application of state-of-the-art nuclear astrophysics in NASA’s future plans for space travel when the telltale vibrations sound off from her book bag on the carpeted floor next to her, and her face burns under the miffed stares of various coffee-addicted college students as she fumbles frantically with the zippers of her bag and reaches blindly inside for her phone, desperate to make it stop, _now_. 

She’s standing to jog from the quiet study space and out into the considerably more noisy hall (buzzing phone clutched tightly in hand) before she can think better of it, before she has the remotest chance at listening to the frantic voice in her head screaming for her to stop, then clicking the green ‘Answer Call’ button illuminated upon the screen and holding the device up to her ear because, _Why the hell not, right?_

(She’s absolutely terrified she’s going to regret this later.)

“Hi,” she murmurs shyly into the speaker, then, suddenly at a loss for words (even more so than usual) when faced with the prospect of interacting with Kara. 

“Lena,” Kara breathes out into the speaker with palpable surprise, like she can’t quite believe that Lena picked up. (Honestly, Lena herself can’t quite believe it, either.) “Hi.”

And God help her, but it sounds like coming home—_Kara_ sounds like coming home, and that painful sensation of bone-deep unease in her chest immediately quells at the knowledge that Kara’s _there_ in some capacity, even if not physically, and fuck, Lena hates and reveres that in equal parts. 

It’s silent, then, for a protracted moment—Kara’s waiting for her to speak, and Lena’s racking her brain desperately for the words, but she can’t find them she can’t find them she can’t _find_ them and her ribcage feels like it’s collapsing in around her lungs and her throat feels tight enough to suffocate her and—

“Can I see you tonight?” Kara’s soothing overture filters through over the line, and Lena can’t help the way her heart rate slows instinctually in reply to that, the nullifying antidote that diffuses steadily throughout her veins like the closest thing to divinity Lena will ever know… it makes her weak, she knows, _so_ so weak, but there’s another sort of cognizance (one she hesitates to trust) broiling deep within her very core that’s telling her it makes her strong, too. (That’s just about the most distressing thought she’s had all day.)

“Yes, please.”

— —

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm soft


	6. blasphemy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kara and Lena talk. Sort of. A little. 
> 
> It's cute.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> did i edit this? no
> 
> am i going to? probably,,,,?
> 
> idk i'm goign home for break and i'm lowkey kinda stressed about it cause the last time i went home some shits went down and uh i guess this is just gonna be part 2 of an absolute shiTshow 
> 
> not even to menTion that with my mormon uncommunicative parents whom i have a veRY complicated relationship with, you really never know what youre gonna get (and nOT in the fun forrest gump 'life is like a box of chocolates' way ok there are aboslutely nO chocolates involved)
> 
> just kinda like was really vibin g with this story after i wrote the last chapter so this is nice, right? a new chapter so soon? 
> 
> idk i'm a little sleep deprived at the moment

Kara pulls up to National City University riding that same motorcycle upon which she’d driven Lena for food on what feels far further into the past than a mere day ago, all the way up to the curb of the Cat Grant Library (the primary study spot on the large campus) just as Lena had stipulated in her texts—it’s such a small thing, Kara coming to the correct place right off the proverbial bat (_a sports reference! Kara would love that_, she thinks)… but, somehow, it feels larger in practice, that Kara’s here exactly when she said she’d be, right where Lena told her they could meet. 

Of course, it doesn’t quite hurt, either, that she's dressed in an absolutely devastating combo of loose ripped jeans and a white Santa Cruz Skateboarding tee beneath an unbuttoned dark long-sleeved plaid that only serves to accentuate her toned shoulders and strong jawline, the shorn sides and impossibly soft-looking top of her short dirty-blonde hair set ablaze by the setting sun on the west horizon. She’s wearing the same worn black Converse sneakers, too, from that very first day she stood waiting for Lena out upon the steps of National City High; God, it makes Lena’s chest ache. 

In typical Kara Danvers fashion, the girl smiles widely (seriously, Lena’s getting a bit concerned her handsome face will split in two if that ear-splitting grin persists) as Lena approaches, her cobalt-blue eyes lighting up with visible excitement, and Lena forgets to be self-conscious about the torn old blue jeans she’s wearing or the ratty cotton grey Metropolis tee or the way her locks of raven-black hair are piled into a haphazard bun atop her head—she forgets all of it in favor of the warmth filling her chest at the sight of _Kara Danvers_ waving happily at her from the curb because she’s excited to see _Lena_, of all people… even after everything. 

“Hi,” Lena greets shyly when they’re a mere arms-length apart, various straggling students milling this way and that behind her—but all she can focus on is Kara, the way those round glasses so perfectly frame her impossibly blue eyes, the way each amber ray of the setting sun seems to make the well-groomed tips of her hair glow and shimmer like strands of gold. 

“Hi,” Kara greets back in kind, still grinning widely down at her even as a sort of uncertainty makes itself known in her teal-hued gaze, one that Lena can’t help but feel deep in her very bones. “Can I, um—" she starts then stops herself, fiddling anxiously with her hands as her gaze darts from Lena’s face to the ground and back again, an almost bashful expression upon her soft features all the while. (Lena can’t help but find it endlessly endearing.) “Can I, like, um—Well, I just—I mean, I just wanted to ask, like, if—"

“Kara?” Lena interrupts, feeling a genuine smile growing upon her own features (large enough to rival Kara’s, even). 

Kara blinks owlishly (_adorably_) down at her. “Hm?”

“You’re rambling,” she informs her, reveling in the slight flush that colors Kara’s tanned cheeks in reply. 

“O-Oh, golly, you’re right, I—Well, I just wanted to ask if, um, it was okay if I-I gave you, um, a… hug?”

Lena feels her face heat. “A-A hug?”

Kara gulps. “Um.. Yes?”

“I-I’d love one."

They stumble their way closer, then—it’s awkward at first (almost painfully so), and Lena giggles at the way Kara’s cheeks seem to set themselves aflame as the taller girl awkwardly shuffles closer with open arms and stands there stiffly in wait (Lena can’t help but think her uncannily reminiscent of a scarecrow for a moment or two), as if unwilling to encroach upon Lena’s personal space even after being given the proverbial go-ahead to embrace her. (Lena can’t help thinking that that’s just about the most attractive thing Kara Danvers has done since the day they met.)

Lena lets herself fall into Kara’s arms a second later, lets herself sink into the solidity of someone she knows is stronger, silently begging all the while that it won’t prove a mistake this time; it’s terrifying and exhilarating all in one but Kara catches her like it’s second nature, all gentle steel and careful touch and an all-encompassing warmth Lena wouldn’t recognize even if it came up to her and slapped her squarely across the face…. but, that’s okay, because it’s a first with Kara, and Lena trusts her to be stable right now (even when it seems that nothing else in her life quite is). 

Lena’s cheek finds its home above Kara’s chest where it’s soft and warm and _safe_, the steady thump of her heartbeat reverberating solidly against Lena’s ear. A hum of contentment escapes her when Kara’s capable arms tighten firmly around her shoulders, and she can feel Kara’s chin where it rests oh-so-tenderly atop the crown of her head (her slapdash bun sagging lower and lower towards the nape of her neck as she nuzzles contentedly against Kara’s chest)—God, it’s almost perfect, Lena thinks, and she never wants it to end. 

It does, though, just like she knows it will, because good things (especially the best of them) don’t last forever.

Kara’s arms fall away, and Lena feels the warmth of Kara's form ripped swiftly from hers more keenly than anything as the two of them part… but, she’s not surprised, by any means, and she thinks that that ought to count for something.

(Things might be changing now, and they very well might be changing for what Lena’s terrified to hope might be the better, but that doesn’t mean it’ll last—Lena’s not nearly foolish enough to believe something so hopelessly quixotic.) 

Still, it surprises her what Kara says next, even as Lena's body tingles pleasantly with the warm nostalgia of her touch:

“Would you, um… would you wanna go somewhere?” Kara asks, then rushes to add: "W-With me, I mean?”

(_God, she’s adorable_.)

“I’d like that.”

— — 

They go to Noonan’s again—it’s familiar, Lena thinks, more so because Kara’s with her. 

And, true to her form, Kara’s the perfect gentleman: jogging ahead to hold the door for Lena and a middle-aged couple straggling a couple paces behind them, standing to push Lena’s chair in behind her while she takes her seat at the same table for two tucked neatly in the back corner of the diner-slash-restaurant, waiting patiently for Lena to order first when the pale-skinned waitress with bleached-blonde hair comes around to ask them what they’d like tonight.

Lena shyly orders a Greek salad; Kara orders a super-sized stack of blueberry pancakes with butter and maple syrup. 

The waitress—Katy, her name tag reads—strides off for a minute before bringing them back two iced waters in transparent plastic cups with the Coca-Cola logo scrawled across the sides in white, then pastes a practiced smile upon her drugstore-pink-painted lips and assures them that their food will be out shortly. 

They thank her (Kara more enthusiastically than Lena); she simply nods and smiles in lieu of verbal response before meandering off towards the kitchen humming a tune Lena can’t quite place, leaving the two of them to their own devices. 

The sun has set, now, darkened violet hues streaking the night sky—Kara looks different under the fluorescent lights of the diner mounted upon the ceiling, and the slight neon blue-and-red glow from the ‘OPEN’ sign hanging in the floor-to-ceiling windows that falls softly across her countenance… but, handsome, still. Endlessly so.

“You look nice,” Lena blurts out before she has a chance to stop herself, then immediately ducks her head as a heated blush overtakes her features at her own brashness. (_God, you need to get a grip_, she berates herself internally.)

“OhmyRa—I mean, _God_, I’m so glad you said that, ‘cause, um—Well, I just—“ Kara halts herself to awkwardly clear her throat, and Lena chances a nervous glance back up at the sputtering blonde as she continues on in a tone strangled with tentative honesty: "You look really pretty tonight, Lena.”

(Lena thinks her cheeks are in serious danger of bursting into flames at any given moment.)

“I—That’s sweet, Kara,” Lena manages to murmur back, her heart skipping a beat at the sheepish grin spreading steadily across Kara’s face. “Thank you.”

“So, um, I don’t wanna, like—Well, I don’t wanna be too nosey or anything, but—I mean, it’s just that after the game, you kind of—Well, it’s not—"

“I ran off after you dropped me at my house, and I didn’t explain why” Lena supplies for her, and Kara’s tanned cheeks flush. 

“… Y-Yea.”

“I’m sorry,” Lena tells her, honest and plain. “I… I shouldn’t have done that.”

Lena fights the urge to smirk as Kara rushes to amend herself, “N-No, I mean, it’s—You don’t have to apologize, you know, o-or even explain! You don’t owe me that, ‘cause, like, duh, why would you owe me that? It’s your life and everything and I—"

Lena clears her throat to conclude what appears to be yet another quite lengthy tangent courtesy of an endlessly rambling Kara Danvers (not that it’s not entirely endearing, in its own right)—but, they have to talk about this. Lena may not know a whole lot about healthy communication within interpersonal relationships (she supposes she has Lillian and Lex and Lionel to thank for that), but this much, she can reasonably ascertain. 

“Sorry,” Kara apologizes, clearly abashed, her pinkish blush reaching the tips of her ears. “I just… Are you okay?”

Lena bites her lip, debating how much of… well, _everything_, really, to share—God, she doesn’t want to scare Kara off here, but hell if she doesn’t think a little bit of honesty might do her some good. 

“Not really, but… “ she trails off, shifting apprehensively in her seat under Kara’s unyielding gaze. “It’s complicated.”

Kara nods earnestly at that, like Lena’s just entrusted her with something momentous—in a way, though, Lena thinks that she just might’ve. 

“That’s okay. You don’t have to tell me. I just, um… I want you to know that I’m here, okay? If you ever need anything.”

Lena nearly chokes on her next words: “I—O-Okay."

Still, Kara smiles, then, like it doesn’t bother her, gentle-eyed gaze trained steadfastly upon Lena’s all the while, and Lena thinks she can literally _feel_ her heart breaking in her chest.

(It’s a strange sort of breaking, though—not like when she was younger, when she watched helpless as the first person she’d ever called home disappeared beneath the water’s surface and never came back up again. 

Not like when she first met Lillian, and asked if it would be alright if Lena might call her ‘Mom’— she’d never experienced someone eyeing her with such visceral distaste before, thin lips curled into a sneer and brows furrowed in disgust and cold blue eyes filled with a terrifying sort of apathy Lena would learn to despise as she grew older… but, God if Lena didn’t learn her lesson, because nothing else has ever managed to cut her so innately to the bone as that did, and she’s hard-pressed to think that anything else ever will.

No, this breaking is different.

It’s like… It’s like a cold shell around her heart splitting in two, like a warmth that spreads throughout her chest as those frozen pieces fall away—it’s like… comfort, Lena thinks, though heaven knows she hasn’t felt anything even remotely close to that for a very long time.

Lena revels in it.)

— — 

“So, let me get this straight: you were reading a collegiate-level textbook on astrophysics before I came to pick you up… for _fun?_ " 

Lena vehemently fights the urge to pout. “Are you poking fun at me?” she questions good-naturedly instead (even if there’s a not-so-insignificant part of her that’s genuinely scared Kara truly is), a single brow quirked in something akin to a subtle challenge. 

Kara grins and chuckles, shaking her head as she douses her last three remaining blueberry pancakes (already soaked through with an unreasonable amount of sticky-sweet maple syrup) in—yep, you guessed it: even more maple syrup. (Seriously, at this rate, they were going to have to ask Katy to bring them another pitcher.)

“Actually, I think it’s kind of cute,” Kara informs Lena with a bright smile before shoveling an inordinately large chunk of drenched pancake into her mouth—Lena just watches on with a slight smirk, her relatively untouched salad more or less forgotten on her plate. 

“Oh, do you, now?”

Kara flushes but doesn’t miss a beat: nodding emphatically in reply, cheeks bulging with food. 

(Lena thinks she’s likely the most precious thing she’s ever seen.)

“So,” Lena forges on, clearing her throat awkwardly and idly using her fork to push her uneaten salad around the plate—she’s getting caught up in the moment (_too_ caught up), and she can _feel_ it happening, but hell if it isn’t the most exhilarating feeling she’s known in a very long time, never mind that it’s also quite possibly the scariest. “When’s your next match?”

Kara furrows her brows, audibly gulping down a sizable lump of food more than large enough to render the typical human near asphyxiated and likely in desperate need of the Heimlich Maneuver, _stat_—but, still, Kara does it, and even manages to make it look almost _charming_ all the while with those ocean-blue eyes and that delightfully silly grin of hers and God, but Lena’s already such a goner for her, and they’ve only just begun. 

“Match?”

Lena nods, frowning slightly. “Is that not what it’s called?"

Kara beams at her then as if she’s just said something particularly cute, and Lena nearly forgets how to breathe beneath the sheer _radiance_ of it, not even to mention the way it has nervous (but _good_ nervous) butterflies erupting in her stomach. 

“You’re adorable.” Lena feels her cheeks heat at that even while Kara continues babbling happily on as if entirely undeterred: "Well, most people say ‘game,’ but I think I like the way you say it a lot better.”

Lena feels the heated flush in her cheeks worsen. (She very nearly drops her fork, for Christ’s sake.) “You’re just saying that to be nice.”

“Nope,” Kara counters easily, popping the ‘p’ in a way that really shouldn’t be as ridiculously cute as it is. “I’m saying it ‘cause I like you,” Lena’s breath hitches in her throat, "and I like the way you think about things." 

“I… I-I like you, too,” Lena manages to stutter shyly back, cheeks flaming, and Kara’s sunny grin (if at all possible) only gets all the more brilliant in response. 

“Good,” Kara replies softly, looking intently at Lena—really, genuinely _looking_ at her like she not only sees everything, but likes what she sees for some entirely unfathomable reason, and Lena has to fight tooth and nail against the cogent urge to hide her face behind her hands in some last-ditch (admittedly futile) attempt to stifle its effulgent fervor. “And, to answer your question: my next game is Saturday.”

“Saturday?”

“Mhm.”

“Is that _allowed?_ "

Kara laughs at that, throaty and unrestrained, cheeks flushed with visible excitement. “What do you mean, ‘Is that allowed’?”

“Well, it’s a Saturday.”

Kara nods, looking indubitably amused. “It is.”

Lena blinks. “They make you do athletic things for school on _Saturdays?_ "

“‘Athletic things,’” Kara repeats, grinning widely. 

Lena fights the urge to roll her eyes. “You know what I mean.”

“Well, yes, I’m afraid they do make us do ‘athletic things’ on Saturdays.”

“Blasphemy,” Lena mutters more to herself than to Kara, more than quiet enough that she doesn’t expect Kara to catch it—but the blonde does anyhow, if the good-natured chuckle that bubbles out of her is anything to go by. 

(_Christ, does she have supernatural hearing or something?_)

“I don’t mind it, really,” Kara assures her with a shrug, cobalt eyes gleaming exquisitely beneath the crappy fluorescent lighting of the diner. “It’s fun.”

Lena raises a single brow, skeptical. “I’ll have to take your word for it.”

“You really don’t like sports, do you?”

“Unfortunately not. I’m really quite horrid at them, Kara."

Kara’s eyes brighten rather suddenly, then, as if she’s just been hit with divine inspiration: “Wait a second! I could _teach_ you! That sounds fun, right?”

Lena’s eyes widen with horror. _Oh, dear God._

— —

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i've only watched the first two episdoes of the newer season airing for supergirl,,, should i watch them now while they're coming out or should i just wait til the whole season finishes and netflix has it? 
> 
> cause i know that once i watch it i'm gonna have a fuckTon of inspiration for like one shots and other stuffs to write but also binging shows is always kind of the move u know

**Author's Note:**

> dude pleASe tell me what u think of this i would love to know!!!
> 
> also here’s the link to my


End file.
